Too many Holy Innocents

Today is the day of the Holy Innocents – the children massacred by Herod. A cowardly man, overcome with fear of losing his own power, slaughtered children in the hopes that this might somehow grant him continued power. We are seeing the same today with the murder of children at our border.

Make no mistake – it does not matter what the cause of death is listed as, every person who dies in the custody of Customs and Border Protection or ICE, who dies on the long trek through the desert, is murdered. We, as a society, have decided to make the trek deadly. We have decided that it would be better to let people die, and have constructed a system that kills people, in order to avoid doing our God-given duty of welcoming the stranger. This is murder.

On this day, let us remember Felipe Gómez Alonzo and Jakelin Caal, who this month were added to the altogether too long list of the Holy Innocents. May we repent and work towards a world where that list never grows longer.

O God, whose beloved Son took children into his arms and blessed them: Give us grace to entrust Felipe Gómez Alonzo and Jakelin Caal to your never-failing care and love, and bring us all to your heavenly kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

We are Saved together — Here. Now.

In response to my post on the criminality of Jesus, I was accused on Reddit of holding with the “great moral teacher” heresy. This is bizarre, since I emphasized the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, as well as explicitly said that Jesus is God. But I will take this misunderstanding as well as a recent conversation as a basis for talking about soteriology.

Soteriology is the study of the salvation story – what does it mean, how does it work, etc.? More broadly, it can be described as asking what happens in the final chapter between human beings and God. We say that Jesus died for our sins. What does this mean?

Often, we emphasize the personal aspects of being saved – an individual who meets a certain set of criteria will, after they die, be brought into new life in heaven, or back on a remade Earth after the end of days. I do not want to dismiss this, and I do not want to say that it is not part of the story. However, I do not think that it is the only part of the story, and I do not think that it is the part of the story that deserves emphasis.

Jesus Christ was a singular individual. Not just because he was God – though that alone would be sufficient to rank Christ as the singular individual. Christ was also singular in his absolute insistence on addressing the needs of the community, and his reverence for God. Christ followed the Law at the expense of the laws as interpreted by us flawed human beings. Christ tended to the sick, the hungry, the outcast, damn the consequences, damn what the authorities had to say about it. Christ, importantly, modeled what God has laid out for the goal of humanity.

And this model is both constructive and destructive: it lays out a path for genuine human flourishing, but that requires the annihilation of those structures which prevent this flourishing. Empire is the largest and most powerful such structure, and as such, those who profit off of Empire were forced to act. In this way, God models for us what it means to build community in this world: it means to die in shame.

But then, three days later, God showed that, not even in this world, do Empire and death have the last say. The ground shook and the stone moved, and God made a promise to us: “Even though Empire seems to hold sway, and will do everything it can to halt you, my sway is stronger.” God promises us that God is with us, moving though us, as we attempt to live out God’s goal for us here on Earth: that we will flourish, that we will be able to live with one another in community. In this way, we, as a community, come to be saved.

I mentioned above that I do not dismiss personal salvation, and I do not. However, I think that the practices we are called to (conversion, baptism, Eucharist, prayer, confession, contrition, etc) are tied up with our corporate salvation. Each of these practices purifies us individually so that we might be better able to undo the parts of Empire in ourselves in order that we might be able to live more fully in community and help those around us to do so as well. What comes after death is God’s concern; we are told in the here and now what we are to do.

An Advent Reflection: 2018

I don’t think I have much to add to the world of “leftist Advent reflections,” but I love this season, so I wanted to say something about it. My favorite seasons are Advent and Lent. This probably says something perverse about my character. But I think what appeals to me about them are that they are seasons of longing and lament, and that, to me, characterizes the world in which we live. The Kingdom of God is not yet. The Kingdoms of the Enemy still reign, and we live in a world of promise. Promise that this world will be overturned. Promise that our social arrangements will be flipped upside down. Promise that we will be restored to God and each other. But while this promise suffuses our present, it is still not yet.

In Advent, we expect the coming of a Savior. We expect to be made whole, both our individual and communal selves. Yet, like Mary, who had to wait 9 months for the fulfillment of God’s promise to her, God asks that we say yes. Yes to having our world destroyed, yes to being thrown out of the world in which we can be oh so comfortable, a yes predicated on nothing but a promise: it will be better for you, despite all appearances to the contrary. Mary waited 9 months to have her child, and 33 years later, the Theotokos wept as her son was tortured to death in front of her eyes. Yes to suffering on the road to healing. Yes to the pain of our wounds being bound up.

Feuerbach was right when he declared Christianity to be a religion of suffering, but he missed a crucial point: it’s a religion of suffering in service of a world in which there is no more suffering. As a leftist, I know the winter as the time when demonstrations slow, as the time when people avoid conflict due to the cold. As a Christian, I know that when things slow is when we must be most active.

Activity is not necessarily flashy. The most important activities for us are often reading, training, quietly talking with those we know. It is about increasing our watchfulness, it is about making sure we have enough oil for our lamps. “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.” (Matt. 25:13)

Hold onto your present, prepare for the future. The King is coming. Amen.

I saw a star, stabbed by a steeple,
Bleeding down on unheeding people
Heedless of their impending shock
When history tolls their twelve o’clock
And, utterly beyond their ken,
Brings Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men.

~Joe Wallace

Some thoughts on exegesis

The Wikipedia page on Exegesis.

This post is a little different. This is a less political post (though everything ultimately touches on politics). This is more about my personal theological views, in order to make sure that people reading my work know where I’m coming from.

I am not a biblicist. I do not study the Bible in anything resembling an academically rigorous way. I take biblicists seriously and study their work when I can. However, I do not think that biblicism is necessary for reading the Bible and forming opinions on it. In this way, I think of myself as a good Protestant.

I am a relatively orthodox Lutheran. I have positions that put me at odds with the Lutheran orthodoxy (purgatorial universalism, for example). However, in general, my answer to what I believe about a theological topic at least begins with, “Well, let’s look at the Book of Concord.” As a Lutheran, I take seriously the idea that Scripture interprets itself — we use aspects or themes of Scripture to understand other aspects. However, I also believe that Scripture must be understood in a broader way than the words on the page alone. Without context, we cannot understand ideas or motives in anything like a full sense. We must use history to understand what a given Scriptural text means. Sometimes, the historical context can entirely change the meaning of the passage, making this a difficult and ongoing process.

On Romans 13

This is the second post in a series entitled “Why Anarchist Christianity?” meant to present why Christians should take anarchism seriously. This ground has been covered by many others before me, to whom I owe a great debt, and I do not claim that the logic of my arguments is original, as most have been discussed ad nauseum among my friends and online. However, I hope that by presenting these claims in my own words and voice and from my own perspective, I might provide a resource for those seeking to understand these ideas in more detail.

In writing this, I have leaned extensively on the research of Alexandre J.M.E. Christoyannopoulos.The article in question is attached to this for your own reading and edification. I will refer to Christoyannopoulos when I am pulling from their research.

I have made the general mistake of reading and responding to people reading my work online, and something keeps popping up: “What about Romans 13?” My professional academic training is in philosophy, not in theology, though I dabble extensively in philosophical theology and incorporate it into my philosophical work. What I most certainly am not is a biblicist – I do not have the training necessary for extremely nuanced work on the Bible, I know neither Greek nor Hebrew. However, in both my reading and in my own life, I have considered Romans 13 a great deal.

What I would first like to note is simple: many of the people who cite Romans 13 against the idea of an anarchist Christianity are applying a double standard unless they recognize that every (almost) contemporary government is in violation of their reading of it. Almost every government on the face of the Earth has risen out of a revolt.

I also want to say that I, unlike other Christian Anarchists (see Christoyannopoulos p. 6 for a list) do not view Paul as in some way violating the message of Jesus. The Pauline Epistles are older than the Gospels, and Paul has defined much of how Christianity was formed as a movement. Paul’s understanding of Jesus has deeply informed much of the Christian understanding, and I (unlike some others) do not wish to rehash the fights over the tradition.

Further, I agree with other Christian Anarchists (again see Christoyannopoulos pp. 8ff) that Paul must be understood as not meaning this literalist reading. He himself defied authorities and spend much of his life post-conversion under arrest. I also agree that Paul is likely engaged in an attempt to make sure that Christians don’t stick their heads out too much (lest they get them chopped off). However, this seems dismissive, if it is left to stand alone.

Thankfully for me, there are others who have done the work of examining the text faithfully, and I follow the line that reads Romans 12:1-13:7 as a single passage. Remember that the chapter divisions were added later. Essentially, it moves from love of those easiest to love to those who are our enemies to those who are hardest to love, our greatest enemies: the State and its representatives (Christoyannopoulos p. 9). As such, it is clear that the State is not good, but Paul puts forward the argument that it is necessary due to human evil.

Some Christian Anarchists put forward the idea that therefore the State remains necessary as long as not everyone is Christian (p. 14). This is the point at which I diverge more strongly from other Christian Anarchists. Paul must be read in his historical context, one in which empires were viewed as a fact of life. However, we have seen many experiments in forms of justice that do not rely on the State, and advances in communication show that many standards for communication and other forms of exchange can be maintained through collective voluntary labor, rather than through the enforcement of the State.

Further, I believe that the State prevents the full exercise and form of Christianity, but that belongs to the realm of philosophical theology, rather than biblicism, and as such is a subject for another post.

The Christoyannopoulos article (PDF).

Christianity, Violence, and the State

This is the first post in a series entitled “Why Anarchist Christianity?” meant to present why Christians should take anarchism seriously. This ground has been covered by many others before me, to whom I owe a great debt, and I do not claim that the logic of my arguments is original, as most have been discussed ad nauseum among my friends and online. However, I hope that by presenting these claims in my own words and voice and from my own perspective, I might provide a resource for those seeking to understand these ideas in more detail.

‘But the people refused to listen to the voice of Samuel; they said “No! but we are determined to have a king over us, so that we also may be like other nations, and that our king may govern us and go out before us and fight our battles” When Samuel had heard all the words of the people, he repeated them in the ears of the Lord. The Lord said to Samuel, “Listen to their voice and set a king over them.”’ – 1 Samuel 8:19-22a

The modern state is an odd concept. Rather than being bound by laws determined by blood and personal loyalty, laws are established by “sovereign” states that maintain absolute authority within their boundaries (as discussed by William T. Cavanaugh in Migrations of the Holy). This is a radical departure from much of human history. This departure makes it difficult to comb the Bible for an appropriate Christian response to the State. However, we might look back at concepts of other “sovereigns” for some analogical fuel. Such sovereigns were kings and emperors who maintained ultimate legal authority. So if we want to examine what Christianity might say about the State, it is useful to look at what it has to say about kings. (Note that, while some might argue that democracy is different from monarchy, 1 Samuel shows a people who demanded a king, rendering these differences suspect.)

When I think of kings and royalty in the Hebrew Bible, I think of the work of Walter Brueggemann, specifically The Prophetic Imagination. In it, Brueggemann differentiates between two imaginations, or ways of viewing the world. The first is the royal imagination, characterized by numbness to the world and to suffering, as well as hopelessness for the future. The second is the prophetic imagination, which recognizes both suffering and hope. He argues that the task of the prophet is two-fold: breaking through the numbness so that people can feel the hurt they have experienced, and then presenting hope for a better world, where wrongs are redressed and people are whole.

Therefore, according to Brueggemann, the prophets are always opposed to kings and to the status quo. We can see this when Amos rails against the rich landowners in the two kingdoms. We can see this in Isaiah’s critique of the king of Israel. We can see this in Ezekiel’s lurid rants against the behavior of his fellow Israelites. We see this even when Jesus declares that prophets are never welcome in their own homes (Lk. 4:24). Prophets cause trouble, undermining the authority of those in power by referring to the higher authority of the Law – which they treat as running counter to the laws as they are laid out in human ritual. The most clear example of this is the criticism of burnt offerings (Is. 1:11, Jer. 7:21-24). While these are laid out in the Law, they were used as loopholes to get around the intentions of the Law, and this corruption angers God.

So we see the prophets of God are opposed to the states of their times. What then are we to make of that to which they are opposed? What does the State do? Note in 1 Samuel what the people want: a king to “go out before us and fight our battles” (1 Sam. 8:20). Earlier, Samuel warned them that a king would “take your sons and appoint them to his chariots,” (8:11) he would conscript people to “plow his ground and reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots.” (8:12) The Israelites had been waging war for generations without a king, so why would they want one to do all this now? What we see is that they were handing into a concentrated source the ability and right to use violence for defense and aggression. They sought to pass off violence to a single figure.

This (initially partial, later total) monopoly over violence by the state allowed for what one author has called “the outsourcing of sin.” By placing violence into the hands of a supposed authority, the people could place the difficulties of existence in the hands of another. However, as Samuel warned, this brought with it all the troubles of the peoples they wanted to be like (and from whom they were supposed to be apart). The establishment of this proto-State would result in a series of disastrous consequences for Israel.

As with ancient Israel, so with today: the State maintains a monopoly upon violence, and violence is declared legitimate only by virtue of being state violence. This is used in order to protect existing differences. The State serves to maintain methods of wealth distribution. By maintaining wealth distribution, the State maintains an order of systemic violence that keeps people in poverty. If one chooses not to pay medical bills, the State maintains the right to use force to remove them from their home. The systems of debt that the State and economic forces must maintain in order to keep control are directly in opposition to Mosaic law, which declares the Jubilee year in which all debts are forgiven, in which strangers are welcomed, in which land is returned to families that had to sell in order to survive. The Mosaic law undercuts the long-term power and authority of states.

This economic violence has long been a concern of Christian thinkers, going back to the time of the Acts community. By failing to give the complete proceeds from their sale of property to the Apostles’ community, Ananias and his wife Sapphira brought the wrath of God down upon themselves (Acts 5). St. John Chrysostom declared “that not to share our own wealth with the poor is theft from the poor and deprivation of their means of life; we do not possess our own wealth but theirs” (On Wealth and Poverty 55, trans. Catharine P. Roth, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press). Economic violence has long been recognized as a form of violence in the Christian tradition and should still be considered such. Further, by concentrating the legitimate use of force into the hands of the State, we hand the State the means to enforce this economic violence, and prevent its overturning.

If we are to be honest in our opposition to violence as Christians, we must take state and economic violence seriously. The nature of the State is violence. From its inception, the State has been meant to preserve “order,” which has meant the use of violence and coercion to preserve systemic oppression. As Christians, we must see the State as the perpetrator of the majority of the world’s violence, and continued participation in it as mutual culpability. We are called upon to critique, resist, and overthrow it.

Jesus is our Messiah because He Broke Laws

At the beginning of the 2016 version of The Magnificent Seven, the mine owner Bartholomew Bogue gives a pseudo-sermon to the townspeople of Rose City who do not want to give him their land. He tells them that, in America, democracy is equated with capitalism and capitalism with God. Therefore, by resisting him, they were standing in the way of democracy, progress, and even God. After this blasphemous sermon, he and his men burn the church the townspeople met in.

While some may not admit it, this is the logic underlying the recent claim by Trump’s spiritual advisor that, had Jesus violated immigration law, he would have been a sinner, and therefore not our Messiah. Laying aside the absurd hubris of declaring what God can and cannot do, this claim indicates a complete failure to understand the Gospel message. Not only is Jesus a criminal, Jesus is our Messiah not despite being a criminal, but because he is one.

The oft-cited statement of Jesus that he came not to abolish the Law but to fulfill it (Mt. 5:17) remains true: Jesus follows the underlying principle of the Law, whether or not those principles are in line with laws as they are administered by human beings. The Law as ordained by God is meant to have human beings live in community, as exemplified in the Jubilee year that Jesus declares at the beginning of his ministry (Lk. 4:19). The Law, in making its way to human beings, and as codified in laws, becomes corrupted into a system of control, used to enforce oppressive social structures. God declared this to the people of Israel and Judea via the prophets like Jeremiah and Amos. In God’s time, God became human to display to us what it meant to be fully human that we might become fully free.

To display what this means for us, to truly live in community, this meant fulfillment of the Law in violation of the laws. When the religious laws say not to share meals with the downtrodden, Christ shares meals with sex workers with unwashed hands. When the religious laws said not to do work on the Sabbath, Christ healed those around him no matter the day. When the religious laws and the Roman Empire endorsed a system of exploitation using necessary religious ceremony, Christ, at the peak of his ministry, formed a whip, assaulted the proto-bankers, overturned their tables, and cast them out of their place of business. Jesus was executed by the Roman Empire, the closest thing to a modern state the world had known up to that point.

Jesus was a dangerous subversive, who, had he been allowed to continue, would have turned all human relationships upside-down. For Empire to survive, all such attempts must be criminalized. So when Jesus seeks to free us from the bonds of oppressive structures, he must necessarily be a criminal. All genuine pursuit of freedom in community must be criminal, because Empire cannot survive a community that sees to itself and seeks harmony. Jesus taught us to live in such a community, leading by example, and was a criminal as a result. Jesus’ criminality was essential to his ministry and to the Gospel that resulted from that ministry.

Every person who illegally builds a community garden, every person teaches oppressed communities self-defense, steals medicine, hides someone from ICE, who stands up to police brutality and the prison industrial complex carries on the mission of Christ. Christ was amongst the oppressed, was one of the oppressed. For those of us who are white in our society, the best we can do in following Christ is to be accomplices to the oppressed, and thereby to Christ. Christ was a criminal, was Christ because he was criminal, and we must seek to be so as well.

Towards a Theology of Militancy

Christianity and anarchism have a long, albeit tense, history. Even prior to the theorization of anarchism as such, countless Christians have seen the Law of God as superseding existing state restrictions. The earliest Christians were viewed as a threat to the State and persecuted as such. Much later, after a history of Christian socialist experiments, there came various Christians who openly embraced the terminology of anarchism, or at least some currents thereof, taking the label of anarchist as their own.

Continue reading “Towards a Theology of Militancy”